


Dance with Dragons, Jaime II

by TransverseLadybird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransverseLadybird/pseuds/TransverseLadybird
Summary: Brienne takes Jaime to see Lady Stoneheart





	Dance with Dragons, Jaime II

**Author's Note:**

> This is only for book fans as the storylines diverge considerably. It starts off where Jaime's final chapter in Dance with Dragons leaves off.

“The hound was presumed dead,” remarked Jaime, sick to death of the steady beat of the horses’ hooves. She had not spoken since he’d agreed to accompany her. If he could have born admitting it to himself, he was terrified. She was a mess; the bandage was bloodstained and didn’t quite cover the mess of one cheek. Her neck was freshly scarred. Jaime knew the mark of rope. Her icy silence frightened him more.

Brienne did not respond to his prompt.

They had been riding for the rest of the night, and the sky had started to pale when he finally grabbed her reins, pulling her horse up.

“Talk to me,” he commanded. She stared at him with blank eyes.

“We must hurry,” she said, turning back around.

“No.”

“If we don’t, she will die.”

“What happened to you, Brienne?” He asked, reaching up to touch her face. She pulled away stiffly.

“A band of brigands, that is all.” The distance in her cold blue eyes didn’t abate.

“You escaped?” She gave him a withering look that looked too exhausted.

“Obviously.” He wished her anger had strength or fire behind it. He wished she’d turn around and snap at him. He would even have been happy with her drawing her sword on him. This lifeless chill was turning Jaime to ice.

She spurred her horse on, and Jaime had no choice but to keep riding after her. The mule-headed woman would get herself killed if he didn’t help.

After what felt like days of silent riding, she pulled up her horse. It seemed an unremarkable spot; a copse of trees off the road. She tied her horse and turned to take the reins from Jaime. He dismounted slowly. His instincts, a disgruntled murmur before, started screaming at him that he should not be here.

Alone, with only Brienne, who was not the Brienne he remembered. It was beyond foolishness.

He had ignored the demands of help from Cersei and then dropped everything for Brienne, riding off into the night within days of ignoring Cersei. He was a fool.

He grabbed Brienne’s arm and put all his strength into turning her to face him.

“Talk to me,” he demanded, staring straight into her set face.

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. Out of the trees came a band of men, surrounding them in seconds, all with their swords pointed straight at Jaime.

No trace of emotion flickered across her face.

A heavily cloaked figure walked through the men; they parted like water before her. She raised white wrinkled fingers to lower the hood and Jaime felt terror grip his body. Unlike Brienne, he recognised Lady Catelyn immediately. Her ravaged eyes, her slit throat, the dead skin; he couldn’t close his eyes against the sight, but he would have gouged his eyes out if he could have.

She held her hand up to her throat and croaked out what seemed like words.

“She says you must do it,” said one of the armed men. He’d directed the comment at Brienne. A muscle seemed to jump in her undamaged cheek. It was the only portrayal of emotion.

She drew Oathkeeper; the ring of the blade rang out into the silence.

“Podrick,” she croaked out, sounding as if her throat had been damaged as badly as Lady Catelyn’s.

The ravaged remains of Lady Catelyn croaked a few more words.

Two more men emerged, holding two more bodies, bundled between them. Both had clearly been severely beaten.

Podrick Payne, Tyrion’s former squire, didn’t look up at any of them, but he was clearly conscious.

“Draw your sword,” barked Brienne. Shivers ran up Jaime’s spine at the sound of her damaged voice. He hadn’t realised how much he missed her voice.

He obeyed. He knew he was dead, but Jaime Lannister should die with a sword in his hand.

“Trial by combat,” said Brienne. “If he wins, you let him and Podrick go.”

The silence that fell at her words was thick, but Brienne didn’t take her eyes off Jaime to gauge the reaction.

“Yes,” croaked the dead woman.

The men stepped back in unison.

“I won’t kill you.” Jaime would rather die.

Brienne drew her blade up and then chopped down towards him. He lifted his sword by instinct, blocking.

“I couldn’t let Podrick die,” she said blankly.

She attacked again and he blocked, but didn’t strike. He could barely stand against her with two hands; with his left, she was stronger.

Her eyes were pained. “I have to prove I am not your ally,” she muttered, “or they’ll kill Pod.”

“Then kill me quickly.”

She struck harder, then without stopping, parried his block and struck out. He could have blocked it easily but instead he dropped his blade as her sword struck through the boiled leather.

It felt like he’d been hit by a horse. He stumbled to his knees in the mud, coughing up blood. The scent and taste of blood overwhelmed everything else.

He looked up through the wavering air to see Brienne standing over him. She dropped to her knees, and caught him as he fell.

Suddenly he was in the baths of Harrenhal, looking up into the broad ugly face of Brienne of Tarth. He couldn’t imagine wanting to see any other face as he died.

She wore an expression now; it was terrified. She fumbled with the straps and pulled off the leather. She fumbled with her tunic; pulling it off and pushing it against the wound.

She was still trying to save him. He laughed, but his own blood smothered the sound.

“Go,” he said, feebly pushing her hands away.

“I can’t,” she said, and he was shocked to see water on her cheeks. He reached up one hand to touch her undamaged cheek, feeling her tears run over his hand. The wench was crying for him; she would be the only one to shed tears for Jaime Lannister as he died.


End file.
